


bake from the heart

by literalvampire



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Cinnamon rolls, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, a quattro formaggi pizza of a story, as in pastries, neither of the boys can be described as one, post main canon but pre-finale I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 20:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14723093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literalvampire/pseuds/literalvampire
Summary: How he would be of any real help, Jared didn’t know. Sure, his mom was a pastry chef and he had baked with her when he’d been younger but he had only performed little kid tasks then like pouring milk into batter, or brushing egg on rugelach, or putting his entire head into a bowl to thoroughly lick it clean. He was a consumer of baked goods rather than a creator._______Neither Evan nor Jared is an experienced baker but they don't let that stop them. And it's not as big of a disaster as you might expect it to be.





	bake from the heart

**Author's Note:**

> if you want a timeline for this, what I had in mind was their fight happening in early to mid-november & their reconciliation sometime in december. it's a bit more rushed than I'd like it to be but I also didn't want heidi to not be an aquarius.  
> but you could also read this mostly disregarding canon.

Cinnamon rolls.

Apparently, cinnamon rolls were Heidi Hansen’s favourite kind of pastry and Evan was convinced that, to be a good son, he should bake a batch for her birthday, instead of getting a cake like a normal person. And, apparently, helping with that baking was part of Jared’s recently-reconciled-friend duties because Evan had never baked anything himself and _I need your help, please, I don’t want to ruin them or, or burn down the house, or_.

How he would be of any real help, Jared didn’t know. Sure, his mom was a pastry chef and he had baked with her when he’d been younger but he had only performed little kid tasks then like pouring milk into batter, or brushing egg on rugelach, or putting his entire head into a bowl to thoroughly lick it clean. He was a consumer of baked goods rather than a creator.

But in Evan’s eyes he had all necessary qualifications to assist his baking endeavour. Apparently.

It wasn’t like Jared actually had it in himself to deny Evan his wish anyway, even if he was over his crush now. Even though he was totally over his crush now.

So here they were.

The Kleinman’s kitchen was so small you could hardly pass one another without somebody stepping on someone else’s toes but a big window let the soft February sun lay its light on the ashen cupboard doors. The two boys were standing at the counter, socked feet on floor heated tiles, in front of a surprising amount of ingredients, that they had picked up on their way home from school.

“So,” Jared said, looking from the pile of ingredients to Evan, who was scanning the recipe, and back.

“So,” Evan repeated, pointing to everything aligned on the counter top. The sun lit up his hair in a way that reminded Jared of molten dark chocolate, which sounded like a cliché comparison but it was topical enough to be excused. “There’s, uh, like, three parts to, to this. We should sort these by that, maybe?”

“Sure.”

Since neither of them knew how to even start this adventure, Jared figured that was as good a start as any. They divided the big pile into three smaller ones - dough, filling, frosting - rather quickly, despite having a minor argument over the butter, which they need for two of the parts. Eventually it went on the dough pile because that would be made first. Then Jared retrieved a mixing bowl from one of the floor units (“Stop checking out my ass, Hansen.”) and a set of pastel rainbow measuring cups from the drawer Evan, who he bodychecked out of his way, was leaning against. His cheeks matched the light pink one-cup measuring cup.

“Do you want me to turn down the heating? I know you’re, like, a natural furnace but my mom’s the polar opposite, so she keeps it on max.” Jared grinned at his own pun. “If you’re too warm, I can change it though. She’s not here, she can’t stop me.”

“No, n-no, that’s fine, I’m fine.” Evan fiddled with the hem of his jumper. “If I get too warm, I’ll just take this off. I’m, I’m wearing a t-shirt underneath, so- I’m okay.”

“Alright.” Jared started pouring milk into the biggest measuring cup.

Evan was studying the recipe again. “How do we- It says the milk should be 105 to 110 degrees. Uhm, how do we get the right temperature?”

“I don’t know. We’ve got a thermometer to, like, check for fevers that we could probably use.”

Evan shot him a skeptical look.

“Unless you have a better idea,” he waited a short moment, “put this on the stove, I’ll brb.”

When Jared returned to the kitchen, Evan was stirring the milk and staring into it like he was about to tumble in and explore someone else’s memory. He startled a little, when Jared waved the thermometer he had fetched in front of his face.

“Is that even hygienic?”

“Hopefully so. We hardly ever use it and I’m pretty sure my mom cleans it after.” Jared rinsed it off at the sink anyway. Just in case. “In this household we measure temperature inaccurately in our mouth, so I promise this hasn’t been up anyone’s butt.”

“Good to know. I feel, uh, very confident about this now.” Evan words were tinted with sarcasm and he wore that teasing sort-of-smile-sort-of-smirk of his, where the right corner of his mouth was higher than the left, only the top row of his teeth showing. The one that made Jared’s knees weaken. Used to make Jared’s knees weaken.

They decided to play it safe and keep the milk on low heat and check the temperature at thirty-second intervals. It took quite a while, longer than Jared had expected, but, finally, with a beep, the thermometer declared the milk to have reached a temperature of 107 degrees.

“This was probably _not_ the quickest way to do this,” Jared said.

“At least we know for sure, uh, that we won’t kill the yeasties.” Evan shook the satchel of dry yeast he’d grabbed from the opposite counter earlier He ignored Jared’s whisper of “Yeasties,” and asked, “Do I just put this all in?”

“That’s what she said,” Jared answered reflexively. “But I guess so.”

As Evan emptied the bag’s contents into the milk and stirred it around, Jared consulter the recipe again.

“Hey, we were not supposed to use all of the milk for that. We should’ve separated a quarter cup to put it in the dough later. Do you think that’s bad?”

Evan briefly looked up from the mixture. “If we, uh, put in the same thing anyway,” he said after a short pause, “it sounds fine to me. Probably?”

They looked at each other for a few seconds, before erupting into harmonised laughter, Jared’s loud cackle and Evan’s quieter guinea pig laugh. Step one wasn’t even finished and they had already managed to mess up.

“Baking’s not an, uh, an exact science, is it?” Evan still laughter-crinkled eyes looked a shade darker than usual in the artificial light of the kitchen hood lamps.

“Nah,” Jared said with more confidence than he had any right to have.

After once again looking at the recipe, tasks were divided. Jared supervised the melting butter, while Evan stirred together sugar, sour cream, and an egg, which he’d expertly cracked without getting any shell in (“I eat a lot of, uh, scrambled eggs, when Mom isn’t home.”).

“How’s, uhm, how’s the butter doing? Because I think this is ready for it to go in.”

Jared quickly pulled his eyes away from Evan’s arms, which were mostly exposed since he’d taken his jumper off after all, and checked the now liquid butter. “That’s good to go, yeah.”

Not that he liked Evan like that anymore but he had some of that nice, wiry sort of muscle from tree climbing,or junior-park-ranger-related activities, or whatever he did, and Jared was still fucking gay. He could think his friend was attractive without it meaning anything non-platonic. Objectively speaking, Evan was probably pretty average looking, Jared thought, but they _were_ friends, and didn’t you always find your friends more beautiful than a stranger would? He was almost sure that was scientifically proven.

Once the butter had been added to the mix as well, the two went back to the milk-and-yeast, on top of which a layer of little bubbles had formed.

“Do you think that’s foamy enough? I didn’t look at the time.”

“Neither did I,” Jared said, popping a few of the bubbles with the nail of his pinkie. “It’s probably been ten minutes, right?”

“I guess,” Evan’s eyes flicked to the tea pot shaped clock above the doorway. “Let’s measure the flour and then it’s surely going to be done. We-,” he had another look at the recipe, “we need another bowl for that.”

“ _Another bowl_. At this rate we’re going to run out of bowls and we’ve got more bowls for baking than the average US household, I think. Why do we need so many?”

Evan laughed lightly and, sort-of-smile-sort-of-smirk in place again, added, “And we only need three cups and two-thirds for now, not all of it.”

“You do not get to make fun of me for this, Evan!” Jared pretended to be offended, plopping a cup of flour into the bowl he’d just got out. “You didn’t know any better either.”

He pointedly ignored Evan’s efforts to get back on his good side. He was exuberantly happy that they could joke around like this again without either of them feeling unappreciated or questioning their friendship. Friendship was pretty fucking great, Jared had to admit. For a second he wished he could tell that to his younger self and prevent himself from ever pushing Evan away because of the dumb _feelings_ he used to harbour in the first place. That was done though and he was not supposed to get stuck on the past, especially not now when Evan was standing a mere five feet away from him and inching closer.

“Stop being a, a gremlin, that wasn’t even meant as an insult!” Evan went in and attacked his weak point, spidery fingers digging into his side.

He couldn’t help but laugh because of the tickling but a flash of self-consciousness shot through Jared. Which was stupid. It was just _Evan_ after all, his _friend_ , who shouldn't and surely didn’t give a crap about the size of his stomach.

“You’re using unfair methods!” Jared was gasping for breath, successfully fending both his prior thoughts and Evan off. “That’s not allowed.”

Evan’s hands had backed off but, oh, he was still standing close enough for Jared to count the spots on his forehead, or realise again how long his eyelashes were, or notice where he’d nicked his jaw with a razor, or all three. Was he staring? His heart was pretending to be training for a marathon, that was for sure, and Jared thought he could feel the tips of his ear getting warm, as if there was a more embarrassing place to start blushing. And Evan was looking at them now.

“Do you, uh,” Evan broke the silence, “have any, uhm, bigger bowls?”

_What_. Jared turned around, now staring at the bowl on the counter behind him, which was about two-thirds full of flour. He was simultaneously relieved and disappointed to find out that _that_ had captured Evan’s attention.

“Just, uh, because- Because we need to combine everything? And I don’t think that, that, that one’s actually, uh, big… enough,” Evan explained.

“Are you shitting me? This is ridiculous,” Jared huffed, not sure whether he was referring to the bowl situation or to his own whirlwind of emotions. But he was hoping to conceal his moment of weakness, and started rummaging one of the cupboards. He heaved an enormous ceramic bowl with a raised heart pattern onto the faux marble counter. His mother, ever the pastel queen, had gotten the mint monstrosity for half the price (“ _Half the price, Jared!_ ”) last year because of a small chip in the rim. Brushing over the chip with his index finger a couple of times, he said, casually, “This is just getting gayer now, and it’s already us two fucking baking… Like, gay as an umbrella term, I don’t want to erase your bidentity.”

Evan snorted at that and Jared hoped to have recovered from his minor slip-up. They messily transferred the sugar-butter mix into the bowl and started gradually adding the flour and yeast-and-milk.

“Is it supposed to be this sticky? I can’t even stir it properly anymore,” Jared complained, “and my arms are hurting.”

“Maybe we have to, uh, knead it now? I can do that, I think, if you want.”

Jared’s eyes and mind strayed to Evan’s arms again for a few moments. “No, that’s fine.” He didn’t want to needlessly test himself. “Unless you really want to. It’s the fun part!”

But Evan declined and Jared stuck his hands into the soft dough himself.

“‘Add the rest of the flour, if needed’. Uh, do we need it? I don’t, don’t, uh, know what the criteria for that are.”

“Makes it less sticky, I think, and judging from the way it’s clinging to my fingers right now, we need it,” Jared said. “Maybe add it little by little.”

In the end all of the flour went in and they managed to produce a somewhat smooth dough.

“Evan, help!” Jared cried out, trying to rid his hands of a layer of dough that firmly stuck to them. “I knead you!”

Pained, Evan scrunched up his face but mercifully scraped Jared’s hands free nonetheless.

The two debated on how to spend the spare hour they had now and settled on watching shitty daytime TV. Reruns of _Treehouse Masters_ were on, which was pretty much the perfect intersection of Evan’s interest in trees and Jared’s interest in criticising people.

(“Oh, this is a _great_ episode! They repurposed their daughter’s bedroom and then realised she needs a place to stay, when she’s home from college, so they build her a fucking tree house.”

“That’s an amazing forest! Look all those old trees.”

“I hate rich people.”)

When the boys returned to the dough, they were pleasantly surprised to see that it had indeed doubled in size.

“Wow, it’s the miracle of life, Evan!” Jared exclaimed, sinking his finger knuckle-deep into the warm dough. “We’re basically parents now.”

“Uh, we’re about to be very bad parents then. With the whole baking our offspring.”

“Yeah, maybe I should rethink that analogy,”Jared tapped his chin with the same finger. “Whatever. They’re going to be delicious.”

“Okay then. Can you ‘lightly flour the surface’? We have to roll it out now,” Evan laughed and turned to the drawer that Jared’s mom stored her baking related items in, while Jared threw a generous amount of flour on the counter and tried to distribute it evenly. “Jared, what’s that?”

He looked up to see Evan still had his back to him but he held something baby blue over his shoulder for Jared to look at. Something with a long metal rod and a round readout, the letters F and C next to the indication of measurements.

“Baking thermometer,” he said without thinking, already going back to flouring. Because it _was_ his mom’s baking thermometer. Oh. “ _Oh_ , yeah, that is something I completely forgot we owned.”

“I can’t believe we used a fucking medical thermometer, when you have this!” Evan turned now, waving the thermometer around. He had an exasperated look on his face but his voice was laced with laughter. “How can you _forget_ you own something like this?”

“I don’t know. Because I’m an idiot?” Jared tried to put on his most innocent-looking smile. It was true anyway; he _was_ an idiot. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. If, if there were any lingering germs, they’ll die in the oven anyway.” He fully broke into laughter now. “But I cannot believe we used a medical one.”

Jared grinned widely. Evan’s laugh tended to have that effect on him. “It’s just what incompetent bastards do. I think I kind of failed the lightly part of flouring too.”

“It only makes it not stick better, so there can’t be much harm in it, right?” Evan came over to inspect Jared’s work.

He had been pretty heavy-handed. The off-white of the counter top was hardly visible under the bright flour.

“We’ll reduce it a little bit, maybe.” Evan swept some of the thick layer aside. His hands were really nice. They had some light callouses but looked pretty soft for the most part as he gently redistributed the remaining flour. His finger nails were short and neat, much nicer than Jared’s perpetually bitten-too-short ones. “There, that looks, uh, good?”

“Yeah.” It took Jared a second to realise Evan was, in fact, not talking about his own hands and shake himself into the present again. He went back to poking the dough. “Sure, looks great. Do you want to roll the dough or do the cinnamon thing?”

“You seem to be having fun with that,” Evan grinned, poking a finger in as well. “I’ll do the filling.”

Both struggled with their tasks. Jared heard Evan curse softly as the butter started to sizzle, while he was still measuring the sugar. The dough kept sticking to the rolling pin, which he hadn’t floured, and Jared resorted to smoothing it out with his hands instead. He audibly sniffed a couple of times as a frankly heavenly aroma started filling the kitchen.

“Is that the cinnamon thing?”

“Yeah, it, it’s so good, isn’t it?” Evan stuck his nose directly over the pot and inhaled deeply.

“I don’t ever want to smell anything else again.” Jared dipped his finger in this too, hissing quietly from the heat. Before his finger could reach his mouth, Evan elbowed him in the ribs.

“Hey! Now you got flour in it, great.”

Jared licked what was left on his finger off and then tried to wipe away what had landed on his chin. “Sorry, sorry. No need to assault me like that though,” he grumbled at a pouting Evan. “I say we just, like, spoon this shit and forget the cinnamon rolls. I don’t care about them anymore because this - This is so _délicieux_ , it’s probably illegal.”

“No, we won’t. It doesn’t matter, if you care. They’re not for you anyway. They’re for my mom and _I_ care,” Evan protested, smiling. The sunlight fell into his eyes from behind Jared, highlighting his eyes _just so_ that their usual warm, brown colour had a greenish tint to it.There was most likely a more poetic way to describe it but Jared wasn’t that pretentious.

He had forgotten to breathe for a moment though and realised it was his turn to retort something witty. He rolled his eyes half-heartedly, realistically needing more time than he had to fully compose himself again. “Alright. Do we just, like, spread this on the dough now?”

If he’d noticed Jared’s break in character, Evan hardly let it show.

Jared poured the mix on the rectangle of dough, while Evan tried to spread it as evenly as possible, using a knife at first, like he was spreading butter on toast, but quickly exchanging it for the wooden spoon he’d stirred with.

“Okay, ‘roll it up into a log,’” Evan read what sounded like the most challenging part of the instructions out loud.

“How do we get swirly rolls from that? I don’t get it.” Jared played with the edge of the dough, thinking that maybe they could’ve used a bit more flour after all and making an effort not to look at Evan.

“I’m not sure? I think I can kind of visualise it.” He shuffled closer to Jared and lifted the middle of the dough’s edge, trying to roll it up but the corners remained flat. “I think it might be best,” he assessed, “if we both control a corner and then keep the, the middle in the loop together.”

“ _In the loop_ , nice one!” Jared beamed at Evan, forgetting not to look at him. He seemed closer now than Jared had thought he was and his assuredness on how completely over his crush he was started to crumble. That was unideal.

It took some clumsy fumbling, and some mild cursing, and some “Wait, you’re going too fast!”, “Is this to loose?”, “The dough is stuck again,” until a somewhat neat log lay on the counter top next to a puddle of filling, that had squelched out in the rolling process.

Jared leant with his back against the counter and pushed up his glasses, which were at the brink of falling off. His fingers were still sticky, causing a smear to appear across one of the lenses. Wonderful. He sighed. Evan had been smarter and immediately washed off what had been on his hands at the sink opposite Jared. He turned, drying his hands on a tea towel, and seemed to freeze. His eyes were fixated on Jared.

“What?” His heart knocked against his sternum but, actually, he didn’t need Evan to confirm he looked even more dishevelled than usual right now. He was too sweaty, and his hair had been a constantly worsening disaster all day, and now his glasses were even filthier than normal too.

“Uh, you’ve, uh,” Evan vaguely gestured to his own chin.

“I’ve?” Jared was starting to feel antsy.

Evan kept staring at his face, which was irritating to say the least. When he stepped even closer, only half a foot of distance between them now, Jared stopped feeling his heart beat from how fast it was going. This was even more cliché than every gay daydream he’d indulged in over the years combined. And he really needed to stop thinking about that because he had promised to be a better friend to Evan, and part of that was not being head over heels for him, since that was what had caused him to ruin their friendship in the first place.

Evan reached out, brushing over Jared’s chin, and holding his hand up to show him the filling that was now on his thumb.

Oh.

Instead of stepping back and wiping his thumb literally anywhere, for example on the tea towel he still had in his other hand, like a sensible person, Evan brought his thumb to his mouth and quickly wrapped his lips around the side of the pad to remove what was on it.

_Oh_.

Objectively speaking, there was nothing particularly attractive about the action but, okay, oh shit, clearly Jared was not quite as over his crush as he would like to be. And he was staring. He knew he was. He was remotely aware of his mouth hanging open the tiniest bit. And Evan was still standing way too close. He tilted his head, a curious expression knitting his brows together.

“Uhm,” he lifted his hand again, seemingly hesitating before he touched his own cheek. “Can I-“

Jared wasn’t sure, whether his brain was going a thousand metres per second or standing deadly still. Either way he had no means of grabbing any thought as Evan’s expression shifted to something more determined, and the hand flew from his cheek to Jared’s.

_Holy shit_ , was all his brain could come up with as Evan ducked down and placed his lips on Jared’s.

Entirely too soft. He hated to admit it but he legitimately thought his knees would give out and he’d pathetically sink to the floor with his back against the counter, like a fainting Victorian lady. This was entirely too soft. Not even Evan’s lips per se. Those were a little harsh in the middle, where Jared knew he habitually bit at them. But Evan himself was being so careful and gentle as if he was handling a newborn kitten. It was impossible for Jared’s heart not to melt in his chest. He was decidedly not over his crush, not a bit.

Jared was still frozen in place, his brain chanting _holyshitholyfuckholyshit_. He half expected Evan to jump away from him, probably bumping his head against the open cupboard door, that posed a safety hazard behind him, and that would be that; they’d never have to mention it again. He didn’t. He pulled back slowly, and when Jared opened his eyes, Evan was searching his face, since he had not found it within him to react in any way yet. Jared was staring. Again. Or still. If he could perhaps pull himself together for like two seconds, that would be great.

Still feeling like a puddle on muddy ground, he opened his mouth ever so slightly more. Closed it again. He really needed to say something, _anything_ , now because he could feel Evan’s hand get sweaty against his cheek and saw anxiety start to settle in his eyes.

“Holy shit,” he heard himself say. “Thank you.”

Okay. Stupid. He was such an idiot. But the small motion of forming words had finally broken this hex of rigidity, which had never before been put upon him, and he shot up on his toes to kiss the puzzled look of Evan’s face.

“Thank you.” Evan smile-smirked.

Instead of teasing him back, Jared kissed him again. Because for once he had no words. Because he had not expected to ever actually be able to do that. And he wanted to enjoy it before Evan changed his mind.

“Getting bake to business,” Jared said, trying to sound like he wasn’t in utter disbelief that what had just happened had really just happened, “you cut the log because I don’t dare to.”

Evan blinked at him for a moment, confused. But wasn’t it Jared’s good right to deliberately catch him off guard him, after Evan had shocked him like that?

While Evan chose a knife, Jared put a piece of baking paper on a baking tray. He smoothed it out repeatedly, knowing full well it would not stay down until they placed the cinnamon rolls on, no matter what he did. But processing the fact that his long-time crush, the crush he’d desperately tried to hide and rid himself of, had just kissed him in his kitchen required some more time. He had to pry his thoughts away from the subject, filing it under _To Deal With Later_ in his brain, to help with the actual task at hand.

Evan carefully cut into the log, trying not to flatten to too much, and Jared grabbed the end piece to place it on the tray.

“Oh! Now I see it,” he exclaimed, spotting the cut side of the log. “That’s how you get the snailiness!”

“Huh?” Evan had already started cutting another roll off but was now eyeing the side Jared was pointing at. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, that’s what, what I thought.”

He proceeded to cut the entire log. Jared peeled the rolls off the counter and placed them on the baking tray. Both kept sneaking glances at one another and exchanging crooked smiles. Jared couldn’t quite get a read on Evan’s mood, so he decided to just see what would happen. If they would kiss again sometime. Hopefully they would.

The rolls turned out better than Jared had thought possible. Some were a bit squished and none were perfect but considering neither of them had really baked anything before, they had done really well. When he’d put them into the oven and turned around, Evan was standing directly across from him again, looking unsure, his fingers at the hem of his shirt again. Jared adjusted his glasses, then sucked in his bottom lip and raised his eyebrows, hoping to encourage Evan to speak.

“Jared, do you-“ He stopped. “Jared, do, do you like me?” His speech got more rapid with every word he said. “I mean, I, I know you like me because you said we were actual friends and not just family friends, I know we, we’ve been over that but, uhm, do you, uh, like,-“

Jared could guess that he was trying really hard not to say like-like, since they weren’t in fifth grade anymore. The question perplexed him but he put Evan out of his misery by blurting, “I’ve had a crush on you for, like, three years.”

The same instant, Evan had collected his words again. “Romantically, that’s what, what I meant, do you like me romantically?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“No, that’s, that’s okay. What did you say? I didn’t, uhm-“

“I said yes,” Jared refrained from admitting how pathetically long he’d been pining again. “Yeah, I do like you, like… romantically.”

“Oh, good, that’s great.” Evan seemed to take a breath for the first time since the rolls had gone in the oven.

“I can’t believe you just asked that,” Jared made an effort to reduce the lingering awkward atmosphere. “I kissed you twice.”

“Well, maybe you were just tying to be a good friend.”

“What are you, a lesbian? That’s not what good friends do, unless- Did you kiss me platonically?”

“No, no, no, obviously no. I like you, like, romantically too.” Evan’s voice changed to take on a more teasing tone. “But, I mean, you are new to the whole being a good friend thing.”

Jared looked at him incredulously. “You dick,” he stage-whispered.

“Sorry. You’re, uhm, actually doing really well with that.”

“No, you’re fine,” Jared snorted. “I deserved that, honestly.”

Evan giggled. He _giggled_. And Jared had thought he couldn’t fall for this guy any more than he already had.

“Considering the, uh, circumstances, I might, like, change my goal from being a good friend to being a good boyfriend?” Jared tried very hard to keep his voice steady and light, like he wasn’t even thinking too hard about his words.

“My mom says the ideal basis for any good relationship is a strong friendship,” Evan said, smiling sheepishly.

Not knowing what to make of that, Jared’s confidence faltered a tiny bit more. “Good thing you just told me I was doing a good job with that.” That sounded forced now, really forced, so he threw Evan a hopefully dazzling but awkward feeling grin, before backpedaling. “Obviously, we can just, like, stay friends?” Jared cursed himself for choosing such awkward words but he seemed to lack the right ones at the moment.

“Oh, no, I meant, or, or what I wanted to say was, uh, that would be nice. Really nice.” Evan came so close to him again.

“Yeah,” Jared grinned, “that would be really nice.”

Evan leaned down to kiss him again, encouraging an addiction Jared was pretty positive he was developing right now. He kept his hands in Evan’s hair once they broke away from each other and tilted his head slightly.

“You know, the recipe said it was for ten to twelve cinnamon rolls but we got fifteen. So there are, like, at least three rolls for Jared.”

“Greedy,” Evan answered. “They’re for my mother’s _birthday_!”

“I think I deserve them. You can’t just exploit my labour without compensation.”

Evan tipped his head back and groaned. “Can’t you be cute and say something like, uh, that you accept payment in kisses?”

“No, I’d rather get my nutrients.” Jared kissed him again anyway. “By the way, how much time did we just spend talking, and making out, and talking some more?”

Evan looked at him quizzically, his eyes darting to the clock for half second and then back to Jared’s face. “I didn’t know I was supposed to keep track of that. Why?”

“Because I have no clue how long the cinnamon rolls have been in the oven for now.”

“Shit.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading !
> 
> the title is from "What's Inside" from the musical Waitress.
> 
> fun fact I: I intended to write a post-gfy Jared-working-on-his-issues fic but then I was baking and thought, Nah.  
> fun fact II: this was originally written as an established relationship & I only changed my mind, after the cinnamon rolls were already in the oven, so I had to change a bunch of stuff around. & I'm not sure, if you can tell.
> 
> if you left a kudos or a comment, that'd make me very happy
> 
> I hope you have a lovely day !


End file.
